“Why, that man that came in while Elder Grove was snatchun' the brands from the burnun', and snorted like a horse--But I _know_ Abel's tol' you! It's just like one of your jokes, Squire Braile; ain't it, Mrs. Braile?” Sally referred herself to one and the other. “You won't get either of us to say, Sally,” Mrs. Braile let the Squire answer for both. “You'd better go on. I couldn't hear too often about a man that snorted like a horse, if Abel _did_ tell. What did the horses hitched back of the tents think about it? Any of 'em try to shout like a man?” “Well, you may laugh, Squire Braile,” Sally said with a toss of her head for the dignity she failed of. She slumped forward with a laugh, and when she lifted her head she said through the victual that filled her mouth, “I dunno what the horses thought, but the folks believe it was a apostle, or somepin.” “Who said so? Abel?” “Oh, pshaw! D'you suppose I b'lieve anythin' Abel Reverdy says?” and this gave Reverdy a joy which she shared with him; he tried to impart it to Mrs. Braile, impassively pouring him a third cup of coffee. “I jes' met Mis' Leonard comun' up the crossroad, and she tol' me she saw our claybank hitched here, and I s'picioned Abel was'nt fur off, and that's why I stopped.” The husband and wife looked across the table in feigned fear and threat that gave them pleasure beyond speech. “She didn't say it was your claybank that snorted?” the Squire gravely inquired. “Squire Braile, you surely will kill me,” and the husband joined the wife in a shout of laughter. “Now I can't hardly git back to what she _did_ say. But, I can tell you, it wasn't nawthun' to laugh at. Plenty of 'em keeled over where they sot, and a lot bounced up and down like it was a earthquake and pretty near all the women screamed. But he stood there, straight as a ramrod, and never moved a eye-winker. She said his face was somepin awful: just as solemn and still! He never spoke after that one word 'Salvation,' but every once in a while he snorted. Nobody seen him come in, or ever seen him before till he first snorted, and then they didn't see anybody else. The preacher, he preached along, and tried to act like as if nowthun' had happened, but it was no use; nobody didn't hardly pay no attention to him 'ceptun' the stranger himself; he never took his eyes off Elder Grove; some thought he was tryun' to charm him, like a snake does a bird; but it didn't faze the elder.” “Elder too old a bird?” the Squire suggested. “Yes, I reckon he mought been,” Sally innocently assented. “And when he gave the benediction, the snorter disappeared in a flash, with a strong smell of brimstone, I suppose?” “Why, that was the thing of it, Squire. He just stayed, and shuck hands with everybody, pleasant as a basket of chips; and he went home with David Gillespie. He was just as polite to the poorest person there, but it was the big bugs that tuck the most to him.”